The TwiceBorn

Sorrow, Deep, Shall Find You

"And I know you're going to lie to me somewhere, some day, and ghosts are running fingers through your long black hair"--Krista Detor

Alora knew,on some level,she was very sick. How sick, she wasn't quite sure. She couldn't focus her thoughts long enough on herself or her surroundings to figure it out. She was so hot she mumbled constantly for Blixen to not put any more wood on the fire,even when there was no fire lit. She had moments of lucidity but during these brief moments all she saw was Blixen's matted belly as he sat on her chest, eyes wide with worry.

"I will help you, Alora The Twiceborn"

His squeaky voice grated her raw nerves and she distinctly heard him say that many times over. Or she imagined it. Either way, she hazily found it just as annoying as when she'd felt better. When the air cooled at night, she felt marginally more like herself. She was more alert, the warm fog clouding her mind would thin and she was aware enough to know her skin was as hot as fire and she barely had the strength to lift her head.

Some kind of infection...

Which didn't surprise her. She'd almost gotten used to the tearing in her side whenever she turned too quickly, or tried to dodge Alderon's latest onslaught. In her hot and still dreams, Abigor's voice of "you're not ready to leave" kept coming back to her and while she'd thought that remark was only to benefit him, perhaps there had been something more to it.

And Islinn...Islinn weighed down her dreams, as heavy as the fever that now weighed down her body. Her sight was sick as well. It drifted lazily about, and fed her things she hadn't seen but knew, in her heart, were true.

Everything she was shown was red-tinged, heavy with fever, and the images took on fiery flickering tones, like a level of the UnderRealms she was not familiar with. The world was black behind these tones, with few bright fragments. Not even Islinn could light this darkness and what that meant,if anything, she did not know.

There were few complete images...only brief snatches here and there and Alora didn't know if she was relieved or not because what she did see broke her heart.

Her existence was nothing but bad things happening, either on their own or by her own hand. Yet in this forever place, she was sickened and repulsed by the shadowy movements presented to her in her fever-sleep. And words. Words meant little to her. In her travels, very few people had said things that truly got under her skin. Behrin was one. And the occasional people who had shown her a kindness then backtracked for whatever reason...they had hurt...but the hurt was brief and usually gone by the time she had traveled through.

And Abigor. They shared blood, he would always be able to prod her emotions and he enjoyed doing it. He reminded her of the peasants she had seen, washing their clothes in large kettles, heating the water and then stirring and stirring, just to keep everything moving. Keeping everything agitated.

But the words in her dreams...nothing but snippets in a sea of whirling crimson with few visions attached...burned through her very being. The words sounded as though they were embedded in flame yet they felt cold. And merciless.